


It's All In Your Head

by Kwizzic



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst and Feels, Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Jinchuriki Have Telepathy, Loneliness, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kwizzic/pseuds/Kwizzic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Jinchuriki share more than a curse; they share their minds. Eight strangers across the continent feel it as Kushina dies, and they feel it as the Fox is resealed once more.</p><p>Years later, it takes Naruto a while to realize that not everyone has voices in their head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fox

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: canonical character death and violence. Bigotry, unhealthy coping, self-hatred, lonely children.
> 
> Playing a little bit fast and loose with the canonical timeline, and taking some liberties with backstory.

Kushina is in love, and to be honest it’s insufferable.

For months— _months_ — she’s been radiating nothing but joy. It was small at first, interspersed between fragments of half-finished rap lyrics from Killer Bee and the incessant stream of _hungrycoldthirstylonely **mother**_ from the infant host of the Shukaku. Easy to push into the back of one’s mind.

But it only grew stronger as time passed. They can feel it, the inexpressible, overwhelming, boundless delight and adoration. It’s unfamiliar for most of them. They’ve been hated, cursed, reviled, execrated, beaten, and used. Flashes of pain and anger and loneliness across the mental connection are common. Happiness is new, and uncomfortable.

And distracting.

 _You’re glowing._ Utakata, just ten years old, shoves the thought at them a little bitterly. _It’s making my head hurt._

 _Glowing sun-bright, day and night,_ Killer Bee echoes. _No end in sight. Turn it down, fox-girl._

There’s a pause. Kushina, flickering foxfire and sunshine, flares with surprise and a hint of confusion. _What?_

A wave of collective exasperation.

 _Just stay out of my head,_ snaps fourteen-year-old Yugito. She withdraws without another word. The sense of blue flames and bitterness vanishes with her.

 _She comes off strong,_ Bee observes mildly. _But she ain’t wrong._

_L **oU** d **(stop)** h **E_a** ;D brI **gH** T //_

They all wince. It’s definitely the host of the Three-Tails, all crashing waves and creaking metal, their thoughts as always a hopeless muddle. Whoever the new host is, they were too old when they were sealed. Sometimes- _sometimes_ \- an adult body can handle the chakra of a bijuu without being incinerated. But only a child’s mind can adapt to communicating by thought.

 _I’m projecting,_ realizes Kushina.

 _YES_ is the answer, from at least five of the others at once.

 _Stop,_ adds Han.

She considers. Then she cheerfully answers, _I can’t._

And goes on, a beacon of shining happiness. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and unsettling. No one could possibly be that happy. Not even Kushina.

Jinchuriki don’t get happy endings.

\--

It’s a cold night in October. 

Utakata is skirting the cliffs of a rock-studded beach, an engraved headband on his forehead marking him as a new genin of the Village Hidden in the Mist. Today is patrol duty, and he’s got to complete a circuit of the area before reporting back to his team.

- _hungry **mother** play_-

He ignores the murmur in the back of his head, like he has done for most of his life. The whispers of the other jinchuriki are no different from the incessant needling of the Six-Tails.

A quick scan of the beach. Utakata holds his breath, listens for footsteps. Clear.

He turns to head further down the beach—

_Hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts **it hurts**_

The thought is tinged with sun and fire: the female Nine-Tails’ host. She’s trying to block them out, but flashes are coming through—

_No you don’t, you damn fox- **hurts it hurts** \- you’re not getting free tonight- **Naruto** -_

A wave of pain hits Utakata. It’s only a faint echo of what the woman is feeling, but it’s enough to make him stumble and lose his balance. He grits his teeth; a jinchuriki has to be strong minded. He will not let this conquer him.

With an effort, he shoves the woman’s thoughts away.

\--

Gaara, ten months old and small for his age, is lying sleepless in his crib. 

He gazes empty-eyed up at the ceiling. A blanket is twisted around his wrist. Dark, sibilant whispers coil around his mind, as they have since the day he was born. Though he’s too young to understand the words, the intent is clear.

Then, another voice:

_Hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts **it hurts**_

The baby squirms and begins to cry. 

An attendant comes. She stops at the door, mouth open in horror. The sandstone floors under the crib begin to shift. They writhe and undulate, and finally rise in twining tendrils.

She flees.

\--

Yugito can handle the pain.

It isn’t uncommon, anyway. Back in the war, there was always one of the jinchuriki injured in one way or another. Some of the jinchuriki liked to project it as much as they could, trying to debilitate the demon hosts from enemy villages. By now, Yugito’s learned to block what she can and deal with the rest as it comes.

So she readjusts her grip on the sword and keeps moving.

But then:

A soft wave of adoration, a blinding happiness more powerful than anything the Fox host had been projecting for the last few months.

She stumbles.

_-naruto-_

Yugito straightens, grits her teeth, and brings her sword down ferociously across the neck of the training mannequin. It slits the reinforced sackcloth and sawdust spills out over the polished wood floor. Once more, she stabs it, and again: the throat, through the ribs, the eye socket.

She stands, pale and trembling, alone.

\--

Fuu has always been a puzzle to her handlers, but never more so than tonight.

She was fine all afternoon: chasing after butterflies on her chubby legs, collecting rocks in the garden, and cheerfully plastering her face and hair with mud as the Waterfall ninja assigned to her care watched indulgently. The only danger had been with the mud pies, and that too had been navigated to a successful tantrum-free conclusion.

As the sun set, she begins to scream.

Nothing they try can quiet her. She refuses all toys and offers of food, and flails when they pick her up or bounce her on their knees. They check her for injury or illness, but to all appearances she’s in perfect health.

At last, fearing that the Seven-Tails is breaking the seal, they raise a barrier and call a seal master.

Except by the time he arrives, Fuu is back to her smiling, cheerful self. Happier, even: a huge smile stretches across her face and her eyes are alight.

They sigh: a false alarm.

Five minutes later, another scream splinters the night.

\--

Pausing in a forest clearing, Han just listens.

He feels the frantic, gasping agony and the resolve. He feels the consternation from the others as they feel the echo of Kushina’s pain. He feels her fear melt away into joy, pure and soft and blindingly bright. It drowns out the echoing hurt from Yugito, the confusion from the children and the weary resignation of the adults. It’s incomprehensible.

Then it’s snuffed out.

Horror surges. It’s so strong, so overwhelming, that Han has to struggle for a moment to remind himself that the emotion belongs to someone else.

_-touch him and I swear I’ll kill you—_

**almost free**

_-hurts it hurts—_

_-not my village, never, I won’t let you—_

The echo of a fox’s roar, suddenly silenced. But Kushina’s screaming and her voice in his mind is distorted—

\--

In the office of the Mizukage in the center of the Village Hidden in the Mist, seventeen-year-old Yagura winces and raises a hand to his temple. His pen tumbles across the table, leaving a streak of ink across the papers he was working on.

The buzzing in the back of his head is stronger than ever.

It’s always been there, ever since he sealed the Three-Tails in himself two years ago. Sometimes it fluctuates, getting louder or quieter. Sometimes he thinks he can hear voices, fragments of whispers that don’t seem to belong to the demon. But when he tries reaching out to them, he gets caught up and dispersed like salt in water.

Maybe the masked man would know more.

One of the whispers in the back of Yagura’s mind begins to fade—

\--

— and she’s gone. Not hidden, not pulling back into her own mind, not distant.

Gone.

Bee felt the same sensation two years ago. The girl who had been sealed with the Three-Tails died, or perhaps the seal broke. The Leviathan had broken free. He’d heard about it rampaging over in Water Country for nearly two weeks before it was resealed. The most recent host is no more intelligible than the last one, and if Utakata knows who it is, he’s keeping it to himself.

The Nine-Tailed Fox is free in the world.

Which means Kushina is dead. Bee feels a mild flash of regret. None of the jinchuriki were friends, really: mostly they considered themselves strangers bound by the same cursed chain. But he’d still liked the Leaf ninja, liked her attitude and her style.

 _What was that?_ asks Utakata. He’s young, and he sounds shaken. _What just happened?_

 _She’s dead_ , growls the Four-Tails’ host.

 _The Fox is free,_ observes blue-flame Yugito. _I should tell the Lord Raikage to be on guard for attack._

That’s the last word on the matter.

\--

Roshi pulls himself up the side of the cliff face.

He’s the oldest jinchuriki since Bunpuku died, and he’s not unused to feeling the sudden, sickening absence at the corner of his mind. The Hidden Cloud went through five hosts in three years, and in between hosts the Shukaku tore across Sand after breaking its seal twice in one summer. It took a while for people to realize that children adapted better to the demon.

He remembers when Kushina was sealed.

Old lady Mito Uzumaki had been the last demon host. She, like most of the other jinchuriki back then, said scarcely a word to any of the others in the decades she carried the Fox. Even Han is practically chatty in comparison to that old hag.

But one day she said, quietly: _Be kind to her._

Then she faded and vanished from their shared minds like the sun setting under the horizon. Moments passed, all of them waiting and curious—

A new light had flickered into existence, young and questing and curious. It flared with surprise and worry, clear as a bell, and he heard the soul of Kushina Uzumaki for the first time: _There are voices in my head!_

\--

Naruto is born.

His world is blurred. He cries because he’s cold and hungry, though he doesn’t have the awareness of complex concepts like cause and effects. Crying is one of the only things he’s physically capable of doing. He can’t raise his head, or move his arms, or turn his body. He clings to warmth.

He has no way of knowing or understanding what happens in the next few minutes.

He’ll hear the story later: that his parents were so happy they cried, that they loved him more than life itself. He’ll hear how his mother had the Fox ripped from her soul, how the moon flared red, how the demon laid waste to the village that had imprisoned it for so long in human vessels.

The Fox is blazing with pain and desperate, age-old hatred. Its essence is ripped in two and chained to a mortal soul, made to fit a seal by human hands. It roars in its cage, tearing at the seal- but the lock on the cage holds fast.

For the first ninety minutes of his life, Naruto is alone in his mind.

Then—

\--

 _That was fast_ , Yugito comments sourly.

A new flicker of sunshine and crackling fire has lit up in their minds. Where, until recently, Kushina’s thoughts drifted through the bond, a rush of blurred infant emotions are already rippling through to the rest of them.

 _Who was it who said that Leaf was going soft?_ Roshi’s thoughts flow like smooth lava, but still somehow manage to convey that he’s grumbling. _Haven’t seen a demon resealed so fast since the Six-Tails._

Utakata pulses with discomfort.

 _Quick as a Flash,_ Bee reminds them. _If anyone could hash it out in a clash with a fox, my money’s down when Namikaze’s around._

Cold silence greets this suggestion. Minato Namikaze- the man hailed as the Hero of the Leaf and the slaughterer of their enemies- has few friends outside of his village, even among the outcast jinchuriki.

 _On the bright side,_ Roshi replies. _Maybe it killed him._

 _Should I celebrate?_ Yugito flares back. _Sharing my head with_ three _infants now._

It’s true: the twisted murmurs of the Shukaku host are as incessant as they are meaningless, and from the sound of it the child sealed with the Nine-Tails is even younger than that. The Seven-Tailed Beetle’s host is older, but not enough to be sensible- or quiet.

 _Sealing them younger,_ Han observes, rippling like wind over tall grass.

Something about this statement, quiet and speculative, reminds them all that they’re getting dangerously close to having a real conversation. 

_I have to go,_ says Utakata, since he’s always been a touch more polite than the rest of them. 

The others just recede back into their own minds silently, turning to their work and their training and their missions, pushing away the faint whispers in the depths of their souls. 

This time, there’s no echo of joy to distract them.


	2. The Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven-year-old Naruto makes a discovery, and the Hokage comes to a distressing conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! It's taken me a while to get this story sorted. Thanks for all your encouragement!

Naruto never wonders about the voices in his head.

And why would he? He’s seven years old, and he has much more pressing concerns: learning to throw a kunai, plotting mischief against the villagers, and avoiding Iruka-sensei’s vigilant eye as he sneaks out of class.

It never occurs to him that other people don’t have the same swirling cacophony of mismatched thoughts in the back of their minds. It never occurs to him that the reason his classmates can focus so easily on a lecture is because the constant backwash of distractions simply _isn’t there_. The voices are so natural he learns to ignore them without trying. For the most part, he takes it all in stride.

He has far more important things to deal with.

\--

“What? _Why?_ ”

“My mom says I’m not allowed to play with you anymore,” says the boy, with the inevitable air of conceit that is bestowed by the phrase _mom says_. “She says you’re bad news.”

Naruto’s skin prickles with anger and humiliation. “Fine! I didn’t want to play with you anyway!”

“What?”

“You’re a wimp and you can’t climb trees,” he spits. “And you cried when Ami beat you in that race.”

The boy flushes. “Well, you’re a demon!”

And how Naruto _hates_ that word.

“Go _away_!” he shouts, taking a step forward. 

He may be small, but he’s got a reputation on the playground as a little kid who gives as good as he gets. The ninja kids don’t take him seriously, but the rest know to better than to pick on him unless they want a surprisingly hard punch to the gut for their trouble.

The boy runs. 

Naruto can see him retreating over to his mom to whine, but he doesn’t care, not even when the lady gives him a puckered glare.

He stalks over to the swing set and flops down on it, scuffing his sandals in the dirt. He hadn’t even liked the other boy- he’d complained all the time and acted like he was doing Naruto a favor by hanging out with him. But there wasn’t anyone else who would play with him, not in this part of the village.

It’s not _his_ fault he doesn’t have parents.

Sulky and frustrated, he closes his eyes and tries to think about something else-- anything else.

A flicker chases across his mind.

Naruto frowns.

It’s brief, and not especially meaningful; but it’s something. He catches the thread and tries to follow it down to its source. He reaches towards the core of the whisper. It’s soft at first, but it grows louder. A resonance, neither sound nor sensation but something deeper that quickens and grows stronger as he approaches it.

Naruto prods at the thought. _Who?_

It’s the first time he’s tried actually pushing back at the presence in his mind, and to his surprise it has an effect. The whispers mostly fall silent. He feels strange and vulnerable, and he knows somehow that by trying this he’s gotten their attention. He feels the weight of their scrutiny, thoughtful, evaluating.

Yo, says a voice. It’s strikingly clearer than the whispers he hears most of the time, like it’s directed at him. _The little fox, he finally talks- tryin’ something unorthodox?_

Clearer, but not much more sensible.

Amusement flickers.

Naruto’s confused for a moment before he realizes: _You heard that?_

 _Hard not to_ , says a different voice dolefully. _You’re loud._

Naruto’s caught with the strange instinct to look around for the speaker- except, of course, his eyes are closed and no one’s talking to him. Because he’s sitting on a swing set in a deserted playground in the middle of the day, all alone.

The realization makes him lose his focus. The voices dim back to whispers in the back of his head, faint and indistinct.

Though he tries a while longer, he has trouble finding the voices again.

\--

Two weeks later, Naruto’s falling asleep in the back of Academy class 301. 

It’s not his fault. It’s just that the classroom is so warm and the sun through the window is nice and Iruka-sensei’s voice is kind of soothing when he’s not yelling at Naruto for putting hot chili powder in his coffee or gluing feathers to the floor.

He rests his chin on his arm, slumping forward. 

Just a little nap.

In the sort of spacey, distracted moment between sleep and wakefulness, he finds himself following a flicker in the back of his mind. It seems so easy, now, to just slip into the passive listening focus that makes the whispers clear. Just sinking into it without looking too hard or pushing at it.

He floats there aimlessly in his mind for a moment, and feels around him.

Listens.

 _blood I’m sorry **mother** I’ll get you blood_ rasps a voice like shifting sands. _I’ll stain the whole desert with their blood and you’ll love me you’ll always love me._

Naruto recoils.

 _Don’t listen to him_ , advises another voice, iridescent and floating. _He’s always like that._

An answer! That was definitely directed at him. Which means maybe he can reply- as long as he can remember how he did it the first time. Naruto concentrates, and tries to push the thought at the second voice: _WHO?_

He feels the blast of annoyance as five flickers turn their attention to him. 

_For god’s sake_ , grumbles one with the heat of molten iron. _Somebody shut him up._

 _Worse than Kushina,_ another says.

 _Loud,_ determines another with finality.

 _Cool it, fools_ , says a voice like a dark pool of water. _The kid’s just askin’. No need for bashin’ and trashin’ him just ‘cause he’s brash and impassioned._

 _He’s not impassioned_ , complains the grumbly one. _He’s just loud._

 _Loud and unbowed_ , is the response. _Won’t be cowed by the crowds that disavow him._

 _I don’t have time for this_ , mutters one in flickering blue. _Somebody deal with him._

 _The hellcat’s back at her back-to-back combat,_ says the other. _But I’ll have a chat as the at-bat diplomat._

 _You’ll just confuse him_ , somebody points out. _Make the Four-Tails do it. He’s been doing this the longest._

 _Hell no,_ retorts the grumbler. _I just came to tell you all to put a sock in it._

This is just ridiculous. They’re all talking about Naruto like he’s not even there. When even the voices in your head are trying to ignore you, you know you have to stand up for yourself.

So Naruto summons all his focus and mentally bellows: _WHO ARE YOU?_

The result is deafening. 

Even he can hear it, in the shocked silence after the fact when it’s still ringing in his consciousness. Something else deep in his soul stirs in its sleep, and he braces himself for the blind fury that’s surely his due from the five voices in his mind.

Except.

There’s not five of them now.

There are eight.

 _Um._ Naruto offers. _Sorry?_

 _Yagura,_ says the floaty-voiced one in a flash of panic. _He’s here._

Before Naruto can really even process this, the flicker is gone as though he’d never been, the space where his voice had come from cold and empty. A moment later, and three of the others are gone as well. 

The fifth only stays long enough to shove one thought at Naruto: _Hide._

 _ **wE**_ **l** _L_ , says a voice, horribly distorted. t **H _i_** _s_ _i_ **S** _N_ **e _W_**.

Naruto hesitates.

Then a new voice, not crossing over from a distance but boiling up from within Naruto’s own soul. It’s a growl and a roar flashing with foxfire: **_what are you waiting for, you useless mewing maggot? run._**

Naruto does the only thing he can think of. He opens his eyes.

\--

“Lord Hokage?” says a clerk uncertainly. “...Naruto Uzumaki is claiming he has an appointment with you.”

Hiruzen leans back in his desk chair. “Let him in.”

“Are you sure?” The clerk shifts from foot to foot. “Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t, but... it was only last week that he glued all of your papers together. And the week before that he put pepper on all the ceiling fans. And switched the labels on all of the mission scrolls, and-“

“Let him in,” he repeats.

The clerk bows obediently and disappears down the hallway. A few moments later, he returns with a orange-clad child in tow.

“Behave yourself,” he warns Naruto as he leaves.

Naruto sticks out his tongue.

The Hokage sighs, and waves a hand. “Sit.”

The boy doesn’t- he casts the chair a doubtful glance and wanders around to the side of Hiruzen’s desk. Something’s a little different about him today, though the Hokage can’t pin down exactly what it might be.

Naruto looks up at him with wide blue eyes. 

He’s spooked.

“What’s wrong?” Hiruzen asks, concerned. “Did something happen?”

He hasn’t heard any reports of an incident- but where Naruto is concerned, he so rarely does. Too many of his soldiers are selectively deaf to jeers of brat and changeling and demon. Cuts and bruises may heal quickly with the fox’s power, but broken trust is far harder to restore.

Naruto swallowed. “Kind of.”

Hiruzen is instantly on alert. He gentles his voice. “What was it? You can tell me, Naruto, I’ll take care of it.”

“Um.” The blond boy doesn’t meet his eyes. “I... there are these voices in my head.”

Hiruzen’s heart stops.

Just for a moment, then he’s pushing away panic with years of practice, taking a deep breath, and trying to think about it reasonably. What does he need to do? 

First: take precautions.

He signals behind his back, sending a tiny flare of chakra to alert his personal ANBU. In one and a half seconds exactly, they’re all at their stations. Hound and Rat are under genjutsu illusions just inside the window, Otter and Monkey standing guard outside. 

Second: don’t scare Naruto.

He leans back, thoughtful. “A voice in your head? What does it say?”

“Lots of voices,” Naruto corrects uncertainly. “And they say a lot of stuff. Mostly I don’t listen, and it’s just kind of there, like radio static or something.”

“How long has this been happening?”

The boy makes a frustrated gesture. “I dunno. Always, I guess? It wasn’t really a big deal. I couldn’t ever make out what they were saying.”

“But now?”

“I just- I finally figured out how to listen properly,” Naruto explains. “Like, kind of listening but not trying too hard and it just happened. And I could hear them.”

“And what did they say?” prompted Hiruzen.

“The first one-“ Naruto shivers. “Something about blood, and killing a lot of people I think. It was creepy.”

Hidden by their illusions, the ANBU guards tense.

“The others were weird. I couldn’t really tell them apart, they kept talking too fast. I think they were mad at me- I was thinking too loud or something, I didn’t really get it, but.” 

The boy looks up miserably. “I got mad at them. And I shouted.”

“You... shouted.”

“In my head,” Naruto says. “It’s hard to explain. I thought at them really loud, and it came out even louder then I meant it to. And I think I woke something up?”

“Go on,” Hiruzen says, though his mouth is dry.

“There was something wrong with it or something.” He’s hugging his arms across his chest. “It was, uh, mangled and the words were- like it was- I can’t explain, but it was really screwed up. And a voice told me to run, so I kind of opened my eyes and came here, and I swear I’m not lying.”

“I never thought you were,” says the old man over the worry in his throat. “I’m very glad you came to me.”

“So... what’s going to happen to me?” Naruto says worriedly. “Am I in trouble?”

“Certainly not,” says Hiruzen briskly. “I have an acquaintance that has some experience in cases like this. He should be able to make sure everything’s all right.”

“I’m not crazy, am I?” Naruto mumbles. “I didn’t used to think I was crazy but I’m not sure anymore.”

“I doubt that very much,” he tells the boy. 

But Naruto doesn’t look reassured. “Then what’s wrong with me?” 

\--

“He’s hearing voices,” Sarutobi-sensei says tiredly. “At least some of which are encouraging him to violently murder innocent people. He says he got angry- “shouted at them” was the phrase he used- and woke up something that scared him so much he ran straight out of class to find me.”

The shocked silence stretches a moment longer.

“That should be impossible,” Jiraiya says simply. “I saw Minato’s seal. It was the finest I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Explain that to Naruto, then. He’s afraid to go to sleep, Jiraiya. He’s convinced that the voices in his head will find him again, and _I can’t tell him he’s wrong_.”

The Toad Sage firms his chin; nods. “Right. Of course I’ll give it a look.”

“Thank you.” Hiruzen sighs. “And I suppose after this we really ought to tell him properly about the fox.”

“You- what? _You still haven’t told him_? After all this?” Jiraiya gestures vaguely, caught off guard. “Sensei, the kid’s hearing voices in his head. I think we’re a little past the _keeping it secret for his own good_ stage here.”

“I know. There just hasn’t been a good time for it.”

“The good time for it is right now.”

“Once you’ve checked the seal,” begins Sarutobi-sensei, but even he doesn't sound very convinced.

“Forget this. I’ll tell him,” Jiraiya says, and he’s gone before his teacher can get a word in edgewise- or, indeed, tell him where to find Naruto.

\--

Earlier that same day, the Kazekage’s eight-year-old son gets something of a surprise.

For Gaara, the whispers in the back of his mind had always been drowned out by one, much stronger voice. It was his mother’s crooning in the back of his mind, day and night, that consumed him, smothered him, cradled him. 

When he got too near the other voices in his head, she would guide him away and back into her open arms. Mother always looked after him. So when he meets with his blood brother and sister (who watch him sidelong with fear and doubt in their eyes) for training, he’s entirely unprepared for:

_**WHO ARE YOU?** _

Gaara’s head rings with the force of the demand. He loses his footing and falls a few inches before the sand catches him. 

Mother tries to stop him. She whispers in his mind: _**don’t go, don’t go to him, stay here with me and I’ll protect you, Gaara, remember?**_ But Gaara pushes forward, towards the place in his mind where he can still feel someone else- several someone elses- brushing against his soul. And he listens to them.

_Um. Sorry?_ offers one, in a voice bright like the desert sun. 

_Yagura_ , flares another in panic. _He’s here_.

The lights in his mind go out one by one in a rush, until there’s only three others left and the lingering echo of a command: _Hide_.

 _ **wE**_ **l** _L_. t **H _i_** _s_ _i_ **S** _N_ **e _W_**.

It’s wrong. Gaara feels the horror and uncertainty flare from the other two lights- the first one, like sunshine, and another beetle-bright, whirring and clicking. Then they both go out at the same time. Not completely blocked off, the way the other five had. But hiding, far away in the depths of their mind, enough to make it hard for him to find them again. They’re young, inexperienced.

Gaara stays, silent, watching. It’s just him and the distorted spark, alone in the depths of their mind.

 _Who are you?_ he asks.

The flicker sputters, turns- not quite looking at him, like a blindfolded person trying to guess where he is by the sound of his voice. 

**w** _h **O**_ a _ **Re** y_ O _u_? counters the distortion. _**H** o_W **d** _i_ **D** _y **o **U****_ T ** _o_** u _C_ h _t **H**_ i **s** _M_ **i** n _ **D**_?;

 _You’re in my mind_ , says Gaara. _Leave. Mother doesn’t want you here. Who are you?_

The distortion coils around him.

 _i_ ' **M** _T_ **o _b_** I.


	3. The Sage

Naruto hasn’t slept in three days.

This might be more of a problem if the old man Hokage hadn’t given him a free pass from school for health reasons. On the other hand, Naruto might be having an easier time staying awake if Iruka-sensei were around to throw chalk at him when he dozed off during lecture.

Except he’s also getting more and more worried that the spacey feeling of chronic sleep deprivation might be kind of similar to the spacey feeling he got when he slipped into the part of his mind where the voices got clear. And that thought makes him jerk back into reality with panic in his throat.

He’s pacing his room- harder to fall asleep when he’s standing up, and if he does he’ll wake up when he hits the ground- when there’s a knock on the door and he goes to answer it.

“Who are you?” he asks suspiciously, looking the white-haired giant up and down. “Are you collecting for charity or something? I don’t have any money.”

“Charity?”

“Well, you’re dressed up like some kinda circus performer,” Naruto explains, trailing off into a yawn. “Like for publicity stunts and stuff.”

“Don’t kids study history these days?” mutters the man, which seems like a strange response so Naruto’s tired brain doesn’t bother to puzzle over it. “Anyway, no. I’m Jiraiya, and I’m the Third Hokage’s student. He asked me to help you with your problem.”

“My... ‘voices’ problem.”

“Yeah,” the man agrees. “Your ‘voices’ problem.”

Naruto shrugs and holds the door open. “Then I guess you can come in. But don’t touch anything.”

\--

Naruto looks altogether too much like his parents.

His smile is Kushina’s, and his round face. He has Minato’s darker blue eyes but Kushina’s shape; Minato’s fluffy hair and thick eyelashes and tanned skin. Kushina’s sturdy build and mischievous nose. The whisker marks on his face are a new addition, though. Jiraiya’s not sure where that came from. He wonders if Naruto was born with them, or if they appeared after the fox was sealed inside him. A mystery for the ages, since anyone who was there when Naruto was born is dead now. 

Jiraiya’s godson looks up at him. 

“I’ve never seen you before,” Naruto says after a moment. “Are you sure you’re the old man’s student?”

“Excuse me?” Jiraiya says, affronted. “Haven’t you ever heard of the Sannin of the Hidden Leaf? Wreaking havoc on the battlefield, the students of the Third Hokage himself, in a line of discipleship going back to the founding of the village?”

“Nope.”

“You’re kidding. Well, you’ve heard of the great Toad Sage? Mastered the mystic arts on Mount Myoboku, traveled the world learning about human nature, writing great literature, and charming women everywhere?”

Naruto cocked his head. “Not even once.”

“I trained the Fourth Hokage, for crying out loud!” 

It isn’t something Jiraiya normally includes in his boasts, since if he’s being honest he can’t really take credit for any of Minato’s brilliance. Everything that kid did, he did by his own power.

But it makes Naruto’s eyes light up. “For real!”

“For real.” Jiraiya waves a hand. “You can check your history textbook. I swear, unless you get your head carved in the mountainside everyone just forgets you existed.”

“What was he like?” 

It’s a stinging question, coming from a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy with the Uzumaki crest sewn painstakingly onto the back of his shirt. For a moment, all Jiraiya can think is _a lot like you._

“Who, Minato?” he says instead. “Exactly how you’d think. Brilliant and loyal and noble and heroic and so on. Too good for this world, as they say.”

Naruto isn’t distracted by the Jiraiya’s lackluster tone. “Minato? Was that his name?”

“What, they don’t even teach you that much in school?”

“I don’t like school much,” Naruto says blankly. “Iruka-sensei’s lectures are boring.”

“You get to learn cool new ninjutsu, don’t you?” Jiraiya offers. “And you get to hang out with your friends. Can’t be that bad.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

Naruto says it quite normally, kicking his feet off the side of the bed, like nothing in the world is wrong with that idea.

Jiraiya frowns. “Not even one?”

“The guy at the ramen stand is nice,” Naruto offers. “He gives me free toppings.”

“Does he, now?” Jiraiya’s stomach is twisting in something approaching guilt- it’s becoming increasingly clear that Naruto’s childhood has not been as carefree or innocent as they’d hoped. “Well, I’ll have to pay him a visit before I leave.”

The boy nods emphatically. “Ichiraku ramen is the best!”

“If you like, you can come along,” he adds, putting on a magnanimous air. In reality, it’s probably the least Naruto deserves from him after eight years of failing to live up to the promise he made Minato. “I’ll treat you to lunch.”

Naruto’s eyes light up- proving that he hasn’t an ounce of self-preservation when it comes to accepting free meals from strange adults. “Awesome!”

“But first we’ve got to take care of that problem of yours.”

The kid deflates, but nods seriously. He hugs his arms around his chest, like he’s scared if he lets go, something inside might be able to escape. “You can fix it? Is there something wrong with my head?”

Jiraiya hesitates. “Some people hear voices because they’re sick in their heads,” he says slowly. “But I don’t think that’s your problem. You’ve got a bit of a different situation.”

Naruto squints. “How come?”

How to explain it?

On his way over, while he was tracking Naruto down, he’d thought a little about what words to use- then he’d dismissed it, figuring he’d know what to say when the moment came. Now he was standing in a messy apartment, trying to explain to a scared little kid that there was a demon sealed inside of him that could bring down the entire village if it got loose. 

Jiraiya was beginning to understand why the Third had been so reluctant to bring it up.

In the end, there was only one way to go about it.

“They ever teach you how Minato died?”

\--

It’s a long explanation, and a painful one.

Jiraiya is all too aware that Naruto is only seven years old, for crying out loud. He’s a kid, and he never asked for this kind of responsibility. It’s almost worse how Naruto takes it with an unhappy resignation—as though he’d known all along there was something that no one was telling him, and it’s only a little worse than what he’d been imagining. 

“So... the voices in my head.” Naruto says miserably. “It’s the Fox trying to get out.”

“Probably, yes.”

“But I thought-“ the kid hesitates, folding in on himself a little more. “I thought, maybe—“

“What is it?”

“Nothing. But some of the voices... they were nice. I mean, I didn’t really understand a lot of what they were saying, but they didn’t sound evil.”

Jiraiya sighs ruefully. “I wish I could agree. Look, the Fox has had _centuries_ of practice trying to convince people to let it out of its seal. I’m sure it can be very persuasive.”

“Right.” Naruto fixes his eyes on the ground. “Okay.”

\--

Across the continent, in a village ensconced in spires of tall stone and thin banks of cloud, a young woman makes her way to her Kage’s office with an ironset frown. She’s grown a little taller and more leanly muscled from the slim girl of fourteen she once was, but seven years have done nothing to change Yugito Nii’s flinty countenance.

The guards at the door tense when she approaches, but she only pushes past them without a word.

“Lord Raikage?” Yugito kneels briefly as she enters the office, as propriety demands. “You summoned me?”

Then she looks up, and—

\--Killer Bee regards her from beside the Raikage’s desk.

 _Oh, brilliant_.

She shoves down the thought as quickly as she can, and blocks off as much of the connection as she can. It’s not easy to do it here, face-to-face with the host of the Eight-Tails. Proximity has always made the bond grow stronger, and she can feel it echoing, thrumming strongly with the sense of slick dark stones and smooth cold water that goes along with _his_ presence in her head.

“Come in,” orders the Raikage brusquely. “I want to confer with you on the disturbance you reported.”

See, Jinchuriki don’t often cross paths. Usually, there’s only one per village. They’re kept under strict guard. _Nobody_ wants the absolute _catastrophe_ that would result if two demon hosts went head-to-head, for better or worse. Aside from once seeing Kushina Uzumaki across a battlefield, Bee is the only other demon host Yugito’s ever met. All the rest are just murmurs in her mind.

But Yugito and Bee don’t have the luxury of distance.

It isn’t easy, to look someone in the eye when you know they’ve seen your nightmares, that they know what hidden terrors keep you awake at night, that they know each and every time your heart has been broken. Yugito hates it- hates it with a fury keener than anything she’s ever known. She itches to tear it out of him, the _knowing_ and worst of all the _understanding_ , to burn it in a whirlwind of blue flames and ash.

She can’t blame that on the Cat, either; she hasn’t spoken to her demon since she was eight.

“Yes, sir,” she says instead.

They’ve perfected a dance, the two of them. Mainly it involves acting like complete strangers whenever they’re forced to be in the same room—and what are they, if not strangers? Yugito turns away.

“Nii, you sent a message that the Three-Tails has awakened. Do you know that to be accurate?”

She inclines her head— _pushing away the memory of the distorted voice, no longer confused and benign but glistening with malevolence, the gleaming eyes of a monster in the deep_ —and says, “Yes, sir. The mental presence associated with the Three-Tails’ host registered yesterday at half past ten.”

The Raikage’s mouth twists with distaste. He doesn’t like to be reminded that these two of his soldiers are beholden to monsters. The strength of the demon is good; a weapon for the village. The rest of the _side effects_ \- mostly he’d prefer not to think about it.

Yugito can sympathize.

“I thought you said the Three-Tails was gone,” accuses the Raikage, looking to Bee for confirmation.

He doesn’t trust Yugito the way he trusts Bee. That’s common—Yugito doesn’t work at being harmless the same way Bee does. She doesn’t hide her scars. She doesn’t hold back from immolating flesh and bone with the Cat’s fire, doesn’t pretend she’s anything but a tool of death. She doesn’t play at being _human_.

“Sure was,” is the gravelly answer. “Ain’t seen hide or hair in four years.”

“It must have been resealed, then?”

Simultaneously, Bee and Yugito shake their heads. The Raikage gives them a wary look, like he’s watching them for signs of the mental connection he doesn’t quite want to believe in.

“No, my lord,” Yugito says. “The connection was there. The host fell silent.”

 _“How?_ ”

She remembers: sitting up one night, soaked in sweat, as someone else’s panic jolted her awake in the dark. She remembers feeling the terror of the Six-Tails’ host, barely a teenager, as he murmured an endless litany of _runhidegetaway_ and _all dead everyone dead he swore he wouldn’t_. She remembers the echoed glimpses of _crouching hiding_ and _he lied he lied have to tell someone_. She remembers wishing he’d shut up.

And because Utakata was young and mostly unbroken back then, he’d tried to warn them. Amidst the frantic rush of adrenaline and terror, he’d told them three things: _Yagura is the Three-Tails. He’s insane. Stay away._

All of which she’d noted with a healthy dose of skepticism, as she’d practiced her meditations alone in her room, and separated the _not-Yugito_ from herself. Because she knows from experience that Jinchuriki can lie, too. They lie every day to survive. And though the child host of the Six-Tails pulsated with honest terror, that didn’t mean he spoke the truth.

“As we told you then, my lord,” she says thinly. “We don’t know. It’s never happened before.”

“You have to know _something_.”

She glances at Bee- he’s inscrutable behind his sunglasses, but distantly through the smothered bond she senses his wave of weariness to match her own. 

“The bond cannot be stifled completely by the conscious mind,” she says dispassionately. “It’s possible the host went mad, or fell comatose, or was ensnared in an illusion of some kind. We have no way of knowing.”

“Could they have sealed it?” he demands sharply. “Cut off the connection somehow?”

“We don’t know.”

He harrumphs; she grits her teeth.

That’s how it is. The mental connection is weak enough to be tactically useless, but strong enough to grant her and Bee the vaunted title of _walking, talking security breach._ It scarcely matters that Yugito couldn’t spy if she wanted to, that she’s trained her mind since childhood to block off unwanted influences. You don’t _trust_ a jinchuriki. You just train them, point them at the enemy, and give the order to kill.

“Well, what do you know?”

 _I know the Six-Tails still has nightmares about it_ , she thinks but doesn’t say. _I know he’s more terrified of that thing than he is of his own demon._

_I know the only way out is death._

“Very little, sir,” she says instead. “The host reawoke unexpectedly in response to the activity of the Nine-Tails. We withdrew, having reason to believe it was dangerous, and by the time I chanced a return it was silent again.” 

\--

Bee stands quietly to the side of the office. Yugito, the broken, hissing scrap of a gal that she is, answers with bitten-back growls as the pressure of her self-loathing grows like a weight in the room. Even with her and him both blocking their thoughts, it seeps through his mind, staining every thought with a varnish of desperation.

“Could they have sealed it?” asks Bro, pinning her with a glare. “Cut off the connection somehow?”

He doesn’t know how cruel the question really is.

\-- 

In a wood-paneled office lit by the slanting light of the setting sun over the Village Hidden in the Leaves, the Hokage faces two others with a worried, gray-eyed gaze. His concern is shared by them: by the white-haired man in the scarlet cloak, and the blond boy with the scrunched-up face and dark shadows of sleeplessness under his eyes.

“I don’t know if this is good news or bad news,” Jiraiya begins. “The seal is fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely certain. It’s as strong as the day Minato drew it, as far as I can tell.” He sighs, wearily. “The Fox can’t escape; not unless Naruto broke the seal himself.”

“I... couldn’t really do that, though,” the boy asks nervously. “Right?”

“You probably could,” admits Jiraiya. “I don’t know much about jinchuriki, but there’s a clause in the seal allowing you to choose to break the binding of your own free will. Though, of course, the Fox would break loose at full strength, and you would die instantly from the seal collapse.”

Naruto swallows, quite pale. “I can’t do that by accident, can I?”

“No,” Jiraiya promises. “And you can’t be forced to do it, either, not even under a genjutsu. Influenced, maybe, but not compelled. Which brings me to the bad news.”

“I take it there will be no easy solution to our problem,” murmurs the Hokage.

“Right,” agrees the Sannin. “The Fox can apparently talk as much as it likes, and the seal does nothing to stop it. No raw chakra, you understand—nothing actually concrete that would constitute breaking the binding—but it can talk, and amplify negative emotions, and try to influence Naruto to deteriorate the seal.”

“And you think that’s what it’s doing?”

“Seems like it. Naruto, tell him what you told me earlier, about feeling things.”

The boy licks his lips anxiously and begins, “Sometimes I feel—I mean, I’ll just be sitting and doing homework and stuff, and then I feel... scared. Or really, really angry. Or lonely. Or tired. And I—I don’t think it’s me. It feels like it’s coming from somewhere else.”

The Hokage nods thoughtfully. “And do you ever feel positive emotions that way? Happiness, maybe? Affection or contentment?”

Naruto considers for a long moment. “Kind of.”

“Like what?”

“Like when you hurt someone who hurt you first,” he says distantly. “Kind of like happy, but meaner, I guess.”

The Hokage exchanges a look with his student, but betrays only a hint of consternation on his timeworn face. “I see. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this, Naruto. We’ll do what we can to help you.”

“How?” Naruto asks, tired and fretful and looking too old for his face.

“There’s no need to worry, Naruto,” says the Hokage gently. “We’ll find a solution in time.”

“Well, no need to fuss.” Jiraiya tries to keep his tone light. “The voices might scare you, but they can’t hurt you.”

The boy nods, but he doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“On the bright side, you’re clear to go to sleep. You might have some bad dreams until we can resolve the problem, but other than that, there’s no danger for the present.”

As if on cue, Naruto yawns hugely. 

Jiraiya grins. “I’ll give you a lift back home, kid.”

“But you promised me ramen,” the boy says, horrified- though it’s obvious he can hardly keep his eyes open. “You can’t go back on your promise!”

“I would never,” Jiraiya says solemnly. “I’m a man of my word.”

“Oh...” Naruto trails off, blinking furiously and swaying on his feet. “Okay. Good.”

“But we can’t have you falling asleep in your ramen, can we? So what do you say you take a nap and I’ll pick you up in the morning? All you can eat, on me.”

The kid nods so emphatically he nearly falls over.

The Third regards them both fondly as Jiraiya carefully shepherds his godson out of the office. When Naruto stumbles, the man is there to haul him back to his feet by the collar of his jacket and steer him through the doorway instead of into it. And when Jiraiya glances back briefly, there’s heartfelt concern in his eyes. 

\--

Han is old, as jinchuriki go.

Not the oldest— Roshi of the Four-Tails takes that well-earned title—but old enough to remember growing up in a village concealed deep within the crags of the northern wastelands, before the Hidden Rock drove away both its jinchuriki.

He’d been sealed when he was almost twelve—older than most, but not too old. They didn’t give him a choice, and he doesn’t think he would have refused it even if they had. It was not an easy time to be an orphan in the land of Earth back then. As the vessel of a demon he would be housed and fed and watered: a fair trade for occasionally being led to a battlefield and ordered to slaughter.

Nobody warned him about the voices. 

He learned later that they simply didn’t know. Roshi—canny, keen, watchful—was wise enough to guess what might happen if he told anyone.

Han—eleven years old, disoriented, confused, scared—was not.

He would have apologized, after, if it was worth anything. He would have tried to take back the words if he could. He would have rubbed out the mistake, kept his mouth shut, undone the disaster he brought down on their heads. But life taught him this: forgiveness and regret mean little to humans, and less to jinchuriki.

Han and Roshi still wear their Hidden Rock headbands, unmarred by the scratch of a rogue ninja. The scratch, you see, indicates that a ninja has left their village, turned away of their own will. But Han and Roshi never left. They were _driven out_.

Because of a few careless words.

Han doesn’t speak, these days.

\--

“And who’re you, now?” 

The little girl looks up at Jiraiya sharply, hands on hips. She’s wearing an apron that says _Daddy’s Favorite Chef_. She can’t be more than eleven or twelve, but the look in her eye reminds him of a younger Tsunade.

“Easy, now, Ayame,” says the chef, Teuchi, laughing. “Be polite to the customers, remember?”

She tugs on his sleeve. “But Dad, he’s got Naruto with him.”

Jiraiya frowns for a moment- surely she’s not objecting to him because he brought Naruto along? The kid had fairly lit up at the sight of the ramen stand, and the chef had greeted them cheerfully enough when they took their seats. He’d been pleased that at least some people in the village seemed to have a drop of human decency, but this reaction is troubling.

“And what’s wrong with that?” her father asks.

“You know Naruto’s got no common sense!” she wails. “He’s gonna hang out with creepy grown-ups just ‘cause they offer him food and someday that’s gonna get him into trouble.”

“Hey!” Naruto objects.

“You’re a very smart girl,” Jiraiya says, amused. “And of course you’re right.”

“No, she’s not!”

“Yes, I am,” Ayame tells Naruto archly.

“Luckily for Naruto, I’m not just anyone,” Jiraiya says grandly. “I am the Toad Sage of Myoboku, one of the Legendary Sannin, prolific author and charmer of women, the great Jiraiya!”

She looks nonplussed.

“Ah, you’ll have to forgive her, Lord Jiraiya,” says Teuchi, amused. “I’m afraid she’s a little young to have heard about you. Ayame, this gentleman is the Lord Hokage’s student, so be polite.”

Ayame scrutinizes him. “So how come you’re hanging out with Naruto?”

Naruto goes quiet: the new secret of the fox is still weighing heavily on his mind.

“Well, the kid told me where I could get the best ramen in the Hidden Leaf,” he replies lightly. “Would hardly be fair of me to go all on my lonesome after he did me the favor, would it?”

That derails her- she preens, grinning.

Naruto, sulking, dives back into his ramen. Presumably he intends to drown his sorrows and injured pride in miso and pork cutlets- or maybe he really is just that much of a bottomless pit. It’s hard to say for certain.

“Looks like we’ll be having seconds,” observes Jiraiya.

Teuchi’s already got a bowl ready.


	4. The Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a monster's awakening: the aftermath.

Temari’s youngest brother isn’t human.

It’s an easy mistake to make, if you don’t know Gaara as well as Temari does. After all, he’s just a little kid, not quite eight years old. He’s small and round-cheeked, and his eyes are as blue as the dawn sky over the desert. Someone might even think him cute, with his fluffy red hair and unsteady child’s gait.

But Temari knows better:

Gaara, learning to walk, had never fallen. When he stumbled, the floors would rise to steady him in a surging wave of sand. When sandstorms brewed and all the villagers ran for shelter from the whipping blades of wind and grit, Gaara would sit alone by the fountain in the square, untouched by the rage of the desert.

Gaara stares. It’s a hollow, unchildlike gaze, captured by something far away that no one else can see. Like the howling winds of the desert sing a different tune to him. 

There’s something _wrong_ about him.

That had been enough to make her uneasy growing up, even without the dark whispers and fearful glances from their attendants. A little brother that watched with wide, distant eyes and rarely spoke, who murmured to himself in a soft raspy voice with no one to hear him. He never laughed, never smiled, rarely cried.

It hadn’t been a surprise, then, when Father took Temari aside and explained about the demon.

“Gaara is the vessel of the Shukaku,” he’d said, cold and regal. “The One-Tailed Sand Demon.”

“Yes, Father,” she’d said.

Temari had been five years old, then, and Gaara barely a toddler. She’d been about to begin her training. She’d been determined to be a daughter that the Lord Kazekage could rely on, determined to be an example for Kankuro, determined to bring honor and strength to the Hidden Sand.

“He will be either our bane or our deliverance,” the Fourth Kazekage had said. “I rely on you to watch him.”

“Yes, Father.”

His mouth had quirked into something nearly like a smile, but without the warmth. He’d rested a hand on her head briefly. “You may look like your mother, but you have my spirit.”

(At the time, she’d taken it as a compliment.)

So Temari waited with bated breath for something to snap, for the demon to break free—and then one night, four years later, it finally happened.

Gaara killed Yashamaru.

Understand this: there had been _no one_. 

After Gaara’s birth and Mama’s funeral, when Father retreated back to his office with a face as hard and cold as iron, they were utterly alone. The three children—Temari only three, confused and lonely, was left in a dark, empty room with toddler Kankuro and the strange new infant with red hair. They’d stayed for hours, forgotten by the rushing attendants, waiting for Mama to return and sweep them all into her arms. 

It had been Uncle Yashamaru who came, and it had been Uncle Yashamaru who became a parent when the Lord Kazekage retreated into his office for days on end. It was their uncle, gentle, affectionate, laughing, who taught Temari how to brush her hair and tie it up. He’d given Kankuro his first toy marionette, brought them candied fruits and iced syrup on their birthdays.

Yashamaru had loved them all. He’d loved _Gaara_.

And Gaara murdered him.

So:

Gaara isn’t human.

He can’t be.

\--

It’s a clear, crisp afternoon in the village nestled in a forest valley. The woods in and around the village rustle with a sweet breeze. In a small copse of trees, there’s an overgrown clearing bearing a worn wooden placard that reads _Training Ground 32_. 

It is here that a young, barefoot boy sits cross-legged on the ground, looking up at an old man.

“Meditation?” asks Naruto curiously.

He feels so much better after having slept for about thirty hours and then gorged himself silly on three huge bowls of ramen. Even better, Jiraiya had paid for _all_ of it. Behind the dumb bragging and the showy red coat, the old man was turning out to be one of the awesomest adults Naruto had ever met. 

“Yep,” Jiraiya agrees. “There’s a special kind of training people can undergo, to resist mental influences like genjutsu and mind-reading techniques. That’s what we’re going to try.”

Naruto’s a little dubious, but he nods anyway.

“From what you told me, you managed to find a state of intense focus that blocked off some of the fox’s thoughts,” the Sannin continues easily. “So if we can mimic that focus and intensify it, you should be able to get into a habitual state of concentration that shields you from internal mental probes.”

He blinks. “Um. What?”

“It’s like this: you managed to block off the fox before, right?”

“Kind of?”

“So we figure out how you did that,” Jiraiya explains. “Then we practice until you can do it all the time, even with other stuff going on.”

“Uh, I dunno if anyone told you,” he begins uncomfortably, threading his fingers through the grass, “But I’m not really—”

“Not the focusing type, right.” The man cracks a grin. “I saw your school files.”  
He flushes. “It’s not my fault!”

“Hey, no sweat. Genjutsu’s never been my forte either; I’m all for the big and flashy, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“Normally, I’d say good for you.” Jiraiya shrugs. “But unfortunately, you can’t fight off the fox with physical training. Sometimes we’ve gotta confront the things we’re not so hot at, and for you that means meditation.”

Naruto groans.

“On the bright side: once you get the hang of this, dispelling illusions’ll be a cakewalk.”

“Fine,” he agrees grumpily, pulling his legs into a meditation pose. “How do we start?”

“By sitting comfortably. Yeah, you heard me,” he adds at Naruto’s squinty look of disbelief. “Lotus position isn’t the best way to meditate for everyone. Pick something you’re more relaxed in.”

Naruto regards him suspiciously. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

Still seeming skeptical, Naruto unfolds his legs and flops backwards, lying flat on his back with his arms flung out sideways. “How about this?”

“That’s fine. Actually, that’s a pretty common meditation pose,” Jiraiya notes. “They probably don’t mention it in the Academy, though, since it’s the least efficient pose in combat.”

“So I gotta lie down every time I want to hide my thoughts?” Naruto asks, voice muffled by his jacket collar. “That seems pretty dumb.”

“Only while you’re still getting the feel of things,” promises Jiraiya, amused.

“So what now?”

“In a minute I’m going to ask you to listen for the voices in your mind. Once you hear them, I want you to practice blocking them and coming back to awareness. We’ll keep doing this until you can do it regularly and completely.”

“You want me to listen to ‘em?” Naruto asks, alarmed. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Remember, your seal is secure.” Jiraiya regards him with serious gray eyes. “If anything happens, I’m right here to help you. We don’t have to do everything all at once, either- you can take a break if you’re feeling overwhelmed.” 

“Oh.” He takes a breath. “Okay.”

“Ready to start?”

“Yeah.”

“Close your eyes. Can you hear the voices at all?”

“I can always hear them,” Naruto grumbles. With his eyes closed, he doesn’t see the flash of pity cross Jiraiya’s face. “I just don’t normally pay attention is all.”

“Try listening.”

Naruto bites his lip. 

“I’m here, remember. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“I know,” he grumbles, but the assurance is comforting. 

_Listen. Focus. Listen._

It takes an effort to try to fall back into his mind, with his heart racing a little at the recollection of what happened the last time. He tries to force it twice, but only ends up jerking back into full consciousness- like when you’re dozing on the edge of sleep, and a loud noise makes you jump up, wide awake.

At last he scowls and rubs his nose.

“I can’t,” he says morosely. “It’s not working.”

“That’s fine. Just relax,” Jiraiya says. His voice is deep and gravely and slow. “It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”

“I guess?”

“Nice breeze, too. From the west- you can smell the rain coming over the ridge. We’ll have some clouds tonight.”

“But—“

“And the sun- a little past noon, I’d say. Feels good and warm with that cool wind, don’t you think?”

Oh. _Oh._ It’s an odd kind of meditation. Not like the ones they do in class, where Iruka-sensei is reminding them all to focus on their chakra flow, concentrate hard and master control over the way the energy is flowing. Not like the ones Mizuki-sensei leads, where it’s _focus on your breath_ , and if you lose count you have to start all the way over again.

“Mmm,” Naruto hums. 

The grass tickles against his shins, and the sun is warm on his face. A cool gust of wind pushes past him, making his hair flutter around his ears. He takes a breath- and he can smell the rain Jiraiya was talking about, a tang in the air and a shiver in the breeze. 

And he

_falls_

A breath of a whisper curls around his mind, quiet and tentative. He lets it pull him back into the echoey part of his mind- his soul?- and he waits. Listens.

It’s like cracking open a door that he’d shut tight. Previously muffled tones, carrying the faintest inflections of thought, come clear.

_-ugh what a headache never a medic around when you need one-_

_-gotta wash your hands ‘fore lunch, wash wash wash your hands Fuu such a nag-_

_-where did I put it-_

_-storm coming from the east-_

“Naruto?” asks a voice, seeming to come from a long way away. “Naruto? Can you hear me?”

“I... yeah,” Naruto says. After a moment he remembers how to open his eyes and squints up at the the clear blue sky. “Jiraiya?”

“Hey, kid. You with me? Know where you are?”

_-wish she’d just quit it-_

_-glaring at me, what did I ever do to him, nothing-_

_-village, two li north, better avoid it-_

“We’re... in the park?” Naruto says fuzzily. “The one by the Nara forest. Yeah, I’m good.”

“Can you hear any of the voices?”

Loud and clear. A thrill of fear goes through him as he realizes opening his eyes hasn’t been enough to shove the voices back into the depths of his mind. It’s how it was before, with the whispers always twining around his mind, overlaid on the rustling wind and Jiraiya’s voice.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Lots of ‘em.”

He catches the drift of faint annoyance and a flare of bitter tiredness from two different flickers in his mind. A fourth crows in victory while a fifth worries away like waves lapping on a shore and it’s just _so much_.

“Are they talking to you?”

“No,” he says blurrily. “Not to me.”

“All right,” Jiraiya says gently. “Now, can you try blocking them off like you did before?”

It’s harder, this time. 

It’s as though by trying to listen, Naruto’s cracked open a door that was shut tight. Instead of whispers only seeping through the gaps under the door, they’ve started coming in at the sides and hinges. It’s too much, too clear, all at once, and Naruto feels like he’s going to lose himself in the flow of emotions that aren’t his.

He pictures slamming the door shut. With an effort, he makes the whispers recede, fainter and fainter until, finally: 

“ _I did it_ ,” he says gleefully. “They’re gone!”

It’s quiet in his head for the first time _ever_. Naruto hadn’t realized how loud the voices were until now, when they’re all suddenly and starkly absent. The sensation is foreign and utterly strange. He almost imagines that his thoughts ought to be echoing with all that empty space.

“Good,” Jiraiya says firmly. “Now we’re going to do that again until you’ve got it for good.”

\--

Some weeks later, Fuu scowls as she hangs upside-down from a tree branch.

Her head is too quiet, and she doesn’t like that at _all_.

The host of the Seven-Tails is ten years old, and she can count the number of actual human beings she knows on her fingers. It comes down to the eight Waterfall ninja who take rotating shifts on her guard detail, her tutor Kai-san, and the seal master who gives her checkups every couple of weeks. 

Other than that—well, she’s allowed to freely roam the woods, so long as she stays far away from the nearest settlement across the river. A fat lot of good that does, when its nothing but the same trees and rocks and birds she’s spent her whole life with. She could walk the forest blindfolded and still point out every bird’s nest and climbing tree.

“Stay _still_ , Fuu,” she imitates grumpily under her breath. “Don’t _stray_ , Fuu. Be careful, calm down, remember to _meditate_ , Fuu.”

She throws a pinecone at one of her guards, who dodges wearily.

That’s no fun, either. They’re all too used to her these days. 

Despite being constantly alone, Fuu’s never felt lonely until now.

The soft whispering of _their_ voices had lulled her to sleep at night, and kept her company in the solace of the forest glen. There were eight of them, always echoing in her mind like ripples from ducklings in a pond. She learned to tell them apart by the feel of their ripples.

There’s _ancient lava under the earth_ and _grass rustling in the wind_ —those two are quiet, mostly, but when they do talk they’re terse and grumbly. There’s _reflection in the surface of a bubble_ who murmurs a constant stream of quiet worries without realizing it; and there’s _stinging blue fire_ who’s a cold knot of anger and cleverly hidden hurt. _Shifting sands_ is wrapped up in pain, like wind howling at an empty sky. _Dark water on stone_ is resignation buried under momentum, and then there’s the _brine and cold iron_ that stays silent and watching.

Her favorite, though, is _fire in sunshine_ , because he’s _loud._

Or at least, he used to be. 

Where once there’d been a bright, burning warmth in that part of her mind, now it’s like the barely-smoldering embers smothered by sand. 

Silent too is _shifting sands_. She hadn’t thought she’d miss him, when all he radiated was hurt and loneliness, but now he’s gone everything is far too quiet.

The others are wary, guarded, scared of something she doesn’t understand.

 _Why did you go?_ she asks them.

 _Why aren’t you talking anymore?_ she asks them.

No one answers.

\--

“Ah, Iruka,” says the Lord Hokage serenely. “Please, sit. We have much to discuss.”

Even after so many years, Iruka can’t help but feel like a disobedient child when he sits in front of the Hokage. He hasn’t done anything worthy of chastisement since he was a genin of fourteen, but under the old man’s stern gray eyes it’s as though all of his thoughts and words are under close scrutiny and don’t quite pass muster.

“Lord Third,” Iruka says, accepting the offered chair. “To what do I owe the honor?”

His question is answered for him.

A small boy with striking blue eyes and a mess of blond hair peeks out from behind the Third Hokage’s robes. He’s barefoot, wearing a worn orange T-shirt, and the only thing marking him out from one of the other children frolicking in Leaf’s streets are the fox-whiskers on his cheeks.

“Old man, can I sit too?” asks the Nine-Tails.

“If you don’t stop fidgeting, I’ll have you sit on your hands,” the Hokage warns. “No, don’t touch those scrolls.”

The boy scowls, but settles after a moment.

Iruka watches this exchange out of the corner of his eye. He can hide his distaste for Uzumaki fairly well in public—he’s taught the demon host’s class at the Academy for almost a year now without incident. Only Mizuki knows Iruka well enough to tell that he’s putting on a front.

“You may recall,” begins the Third, “Three weeks ago, I requested for Naruto to be excused from his classes due to health problems.”

After the boy had suddenly leapt up in the middle of class, shouted something about going to see ‘the old man’, and then sprinted out the door before Iruka could get a word in edgewise—yes, he remembered that perfectly well. The other students had erupted into whispers and giggles that had been nearly impossible to quell.

“Yes, sir.”

“As you’ve probably guessed, that was something of a euphemism.” The old man laces his fingers together. “The real problem concerned the Fox.”

Iruka’s heart leaps into his throat. “Sir?”

The Third nods tiredly. “No need to worry; it’s been resolved and Naruto is perfectly safe.”

“Oh. Right.”

Uzumaki’s welfare hadn’t exactly been at the core of Iruka’s concerns, but he didn’t feel the need to admit as much to the Hokage. All that mattered was that crisis had been averted—though of course if the Fox had truly broken its seal, everyone would have known about it long before now.

The Hokage is watching him inscrutably.

Iruka straightens. “So the arrangements you mentioned in the memo—?”

“Ah, yes.” The Third sits up, nodding. “Those have to do with the nature of our little security scare. You see, two weeks ago, Naruto heard the Fox clearly for the first time.”

_What?_

The fact that, among twenty carefree students in his class, lurked one boy with a murderous demon abomination sealed in his soul—the same demon that had killed hundreds of Iruka’s friends, neighbors, teachers, and comrades as well as his only family, leaving him orphaned and alone—well, Iruka usually tried not to think too hard about it. Thinking only made him feel like he ought to be _doing_ something.

So he’d never pondered the logistics of the seal much. Certainly he’d never considered the thin striations of difference between hosting a monster and being inhabited by one. Easier by far to box Uzumaki into the same corner of his mind where he stowed his grief and his nightmares and the image of a slavering demon standing over the wreckage of his childhood home.

Being told the demon _spoke_ to its host—

Somehow, that’s a difficult thing to process.

But the Lord Hokage is watching him, waiting. The old man has the same air of expectant patience that he did years ago, back when Iruka was an angry, lonely, troublemaking teenager. He’d always looked so calm and serene back then, never losing faith and always believing, unshakeably, that Iruka could grow into something better than he was. 

Iruka has the uncomfortable feeling that he’s doing something childish, but he doesn’t know _what_.

“The- the seal was weakened?” he says, trying to assert some control over the conversation. “I suppose you had to quarantine it until it was resecured, then.”

He glances momentarily at the Nine-Tails.

The boy squints up at him, nose scrunched up, but he looks reasonably docile. There’s nothing demonic about the way he kicks his feet back and forth off the side of the chair, or the way he apparently took the Hokage at his words and actually _did_ sit on his hands to keep from fidgeting. If anything, he seems a little anxious, chewing at his lip with blunt human teeth.

“The issue was not with the seal, for good or ill,” the Third continues wearily. “I called in Jiraiya and he ascertained that the best permanent solution was to train Naruto in meditation techniques, to block off all traces of the Fox from his mind.”

“You were successful, I take it?” Iruka says distractedly.

“Fortunately, yes. The training took some time—“

“Weeks an’ _weeks_ ,” Uzumaki sighs mournfully.

“—but Naruto is now able to build a strong mental shield through meditation,” continues the Hokage. “He’s ready to return to the Academy. In the interest of everyone’s safety, however, we’ll be introducing some new precautions.”

 _This_ is something Iruka can understand. “Yes, sir.”

“You see, if Naruto becomes preoccupied or emotionally distraught, there’s a chance that his mental defenses will waver. In case of such a situation, I’m having one of the spare classrooms set up as a place for him to go and meditate should the need arise.

“I’m informing you of this because you are Naruto’s primary contact at the Academy. If he asks to leave the classroom, he is to be permitted; likewise if he asks to be excused from class. If he needs an escort, you will provide one. If Naruto asks to see me, as he did three weeks ago, you can contact me with greater ease and speed than he might alone.”

Iruka nods, wordlessly.

“Naruto is, of course, exempt from the law forbidding discussion of his jinchuriki status. If he comes to you to talk, you are permitted to speak openly.”

“Right,” Iruka says. His voice is a little too tight; he can hear it. “Of course, Lord Hokage.”

“Thank you for your understanding,” the Hokage says gravely. “I know you can be trusted to be discreet.”

Then he turns to Uzumaki. He smiles when he pats the boy on the head, warm and paternal and wry, and the boy rubs his nose, evidently flustered.

“And you, Naruto—mind you don’t abuse your privileges.” The order is accompanied by a very stern look. “If I hear you’ve been, oh, skipping math classes, or causing trouble when you’re supposed to be meditating, there will be _consequences_.”

“I know,” grumbles the boy.

The scene strikes a nerve. Iruka turns away, discomfited and unsure why.

\--

Kankuro was never afraid of Gaara—not exactly.

He’s wary, of course, and sensibly so. There’s no denying that Gaara is dangerous. His gaze is chilling and cold, and he looks at his siblings with the empty eyes of a stranger. Whatever goodwill might have existed between siblings rotted away long ago, and the older two children of the Kazekage live with the suffocating knowledge that one wrong move might reduce them to bloodstains on sand.

But living in the constant shadow of a predator has taught Kankuro certain survival skills. He can sense his brother’s mood behind pale blue eyes. He can tell the fine line between _upset_ and _angry_ and _murderous_. He knows to steer clear when Gaara subsides into low-voiced whispers, knows to tread carefully when the sand swirls against the wind. 

Except something’s changed. 

Before, there had always been some faint trace of human emotion within Gaara’s bloodthirst. There had always been something—desperation, fury, pride—that Kankuro could navigate.

Some weeks ago, Gaara had collapsed suddenly.

When he awoke, the last trace of human in him had vanished. He didn’t whisper to himself any more, didn’t plead with people who didn’t exist. His eyes weren’t cold anymore—they were dead. Empty. Gaara killed without fury, moved without will, and it seemed to Kankuro that his brother was very like a hollow puppet.

Kankuro hadn’t been afraid of Gaara, until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really satisfied with this chapter, but unfortunately my favored method of scowling at my computer until it improved had little effect. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support and kindness! You guys are awesometastic.


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